


Breaking the Circle

by riventhorn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, Canon Compliant, M/M, adapting to modern life, angst lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur returns and must figure out how to cope with modern life. But even as he discovers the delights of indoor plumbing and his affection for Merlin takes a new turn, strange dreams continue to disturb him. Repost from the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Circle

He was aware of the sunlight first, burning against the back of his neck. Then he felt the water, lapping against his chest and fingers. There was mud, too, cool and slimy under his cheek. He could smell the mud—a thick scent of decay and moist earth. 

When he blinked his eyes open, all he could see was a blur of light. Slowly, it resolved into a clump of willows, towering over him and the muddy bank on which he lay. 

It took all his strength just to lever himself up onto his elbows and knees. He crouched there, gasping, and then rolled over so that he was sitting. Standing was beyond him at the moment. 

He was naked, mud and willow leaves sticking to his arms and stomach. Water came up to his waist and looking about, he discovered that he was on the shores of a lake. 

He had no idea where he was or how he came to be there. 

There was no one else around besides little bugs skimming along the water and a dragonfly that hovered in front of him and then disappeared into the bushes. 

He had not felt afraid until this moment but now the fear took him, a drenching, shivering cold like being caught out in a rainstorm. He hunched over his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. Long minutes passed. He focused on the gentle lap of the water against his legs and tried to calm his racing heart. 

Unbidden, a thought came to him.

_Merlin_. 

He did not know what it meant, but it made him feel a little better, enough to uncurl and look around him again. 

The sun, which had been shining full upon him, had moved west, and now he was half in shadow. He could not remain here, sitting in the water. It would get too cold. But he did not want to move. He did not know where to go. He did not know what to do.

At last, hesitantly, he rose to his feet, clutching a willow branch to steady himself. He stepped onto the grass and then pushed through the willows, emerging onto the slope of a little hill. His heart hammered in his throat, and he was alert to every sound. 

A strange rumbling noise caught his attention. It seemed to be coming from beyond a thicket of trees on the top of the hill. He started walking towards it. He could think of nothing else to do. 

The trees gave way to a road covered in some strange substance. It was hot under his bare feet. He took a few tentative steps along it. 

Then he heard the rumbling noise again and turned to find some _thing_ barreling towards him. The thing blared a strident blast, and he leapt backwards, out of its way. It vanished around a curve in the road a second later. 

He stumbled back into the woods, terrified, his ears ringing. He did not see the thicket until it was too late, and the thorny branches ripped painfully into his legs. Escaping, he cowered down next to the thick trunk of an oak tree. He was only a few feet from the road and suddenly another one of the loud things rushed past. Trying to make himself as small as he could, he held his breath, praying that it would not find him.

He was too afraid to go any farther. _Merlin_. He repeated the word to himself because it was the only thing he knew, the only thing that seemed comforting and familiar. 

The minutes passed by and no more of the loud, fast things appeared. He decided that he would go back to the lake. He would go back and wait in the safety of the willows by the calm water.

He had only gotten as far as the hill, though, before more loud things appeared, flashing red and blue lights. Men got out of them, dressed in dark clothes, and they shouted things at him that he could not understand. He tried to run, but two of them caught him and wrestled him to the ground. They bound his hands behind him, and he was dragged over to one of the glass and metal things and shoved inside it. 

Too frightened and overwhelmed to resist, he squeezed into a corner. One of the men reached inside but before he could twist away, he was covered with a scratchy blanket. Surprised, he stilled and watched warily as the men also climbed into the contraption. The rumbling noise began again, and they started moving forward. He did not know how. He could not tell how it moved or how to stop it or where they were going. 

He shut his eyes again.

_Merlin_. 

*

They took him to a building composed entirely of straight lines and flat surfaces. Inside, they made him put on a pair of gray hosen made of a thick, soft material that somehow stayed up at his waist without being tied and a tunic that only came down to his hips. It had short sleeves, and he felt exposed and vulnerable. They also gave him a pair of heavy, bulky shoes that squeaked against the floor.

A woman appeared. She had very short hair, and he suspected she had been the victim of a plague, forced to shear her long locks. She asked him questions. Sometimes he could understand words. He thought she was asking him what his name was. 

He shook his head. He did not know.

Then they put him in a cell and left. 

He sat on a bench along the wall and stared at his hands. He felt tired and hungry but was too afraid to sleep or eat. Besides, he had no food. Perhaps they were going to starve him until he answered their questions. 

After what seemed a long time, the door to the corridor opened. He looked up. An old man stood there. He had long white hair and blue eyes. 

The man was crying, he realized. The tears slid down his cheeks and disappeared into his beard.

“ _Arthur_ ,” the man said in a broken whisper. 

One word. One name. But he knew it. _He_ was Arthur. 

And he knew the man’s name, even before the visage of age faded, wrinkles and white hair transforming into a young man who stood straight before him—

“Merlin.” 

Arthur was pressed against the bars without remembering the steps it had taken to get there, reaching out, desperate. “Merlin. _Merlin_.” 

The memories were coming now. A thousand with every breath. He had died. He had been dead. He was the king.

His knees crumpled, but Merlin was there to catch him, the bars disappearing with a swirl of gold in Merlin’s eyes. Arthur clutched at him, pressing his face against his neck. He could not stop sobbing, helpless against the flood of remembered emotions, the agony of his death wound, the sensation of being thrown back into the world once more, naked, frightened, and alone.

Merlin stroked his back with trembling hands, kissing the top of his head. “Arthur, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I came as soon as the dragonfly brought me word. Shhhh. Shhhhh. It will be all right. You’re all right now. I’m here. I’m here.” 

“Where am I?” he choked out. “Why—what—what is happening?”

“You’ve been asleep, Arthur. For centuries. And I have been…waiting.” Merlin hugged him close, so tight that Arthur could hardly breathe. “It was foretold that you would be reborn when Camelot needed her king. And now that day is come.” 

Arthur’s mind reeled. “I was dead. Not asleep. Dead.” 

Merlin’s breath hitched, but he nodded, his hair soft against Arthur’s temple. “Yes. You were dead.”

He could not make sense of all this. He wanted—he wanted something familiar. “Merlin,” he begged, pulling back a little so that he could look at Merlin’s face. “Please take me home. I want to go home. Back to—to the castle. And my chambers.”

Merlin’s mouth twisted, going flat and thin with sorrow. “It’s been gone for a long time. I’m sorry. But I can take you to my home, to the place where I live now.”

Slowly, Arthur nodded. He felt helpless. More helpless than he had ever felt in his life—no, in his former life. He could only hold on to Merlin’s arm, fingers clutching the fabric of his sleeve. He did not want to let go. He did not want to turn away from Merlin, even for a moment. 

Merlin seemed to understand, for he put his hand over Arthur’s and squeezed. “Come with me.” He paused and then raised his other hand to Arthur’s face, touching gently. “Arthur,” he whispered, “I’ve—” He swallowed, eyes bright with tears. “I’ve missed you.”

Arthur fumbled for his hand and held it. “Don’t leave me.”

A smile. “I never have. I never will.”

“What about the others? The people who captured me? They’ll try to stop us.”

“I’ll put a spell on us. It will make us invisible to their eyes.” 

He remembered that part, too. He remembered how important it had been to tell Merlin how very grateful he was—how sorry—how _humbled_ he was by what Merlin had done for him before it was too late. 

He gripped Merlin’s hand a little harder, and some of the tension in Merlin’s shoulders eased. 

“Come with me,” Merlin said again, and he led Arthur past the other people, past their strange contraptions that made odd noises, past a world that Arthur did not understand and back out into the sunlight. 

*

“They’re called cars,” Merlin told him. They were a few streets away from what Arthur now knew was a “police station.” 

“Police are like, um, sheriffs and the town watch,” Merlin had explained. “They enforce laws and keep order.”

The street was empty except for many of the loud, moving things that had brought Arthur here. Only all of these were stationary and silent. 

“How do they move?” Arthur asked, gingerly placing his hand on one. It was metal, he realized. He did not know what the round, black wheels were made of. 

“It’s, uh, kind of complicated. There’s this stuff called gasoline and it provides the power. Sort of like when water turns the wheel of a mill.”

Arthur repeated the new words to himself. He tried to reach into the car but his hand bumped against a barrier. It was glass, he realized, but he had never seen a sheet of glass so clear and smooth. 

Merlin was looking nervously about them, and he took Arthur’s hand. “Come on. They’ll notice that you’re gone soon, and I’d like to be far away from here at that point.”

He stuck close to Merlin as they walked, almost treading on his heels. This new world filled his ears with sounds and his nose with scents. But they were so different. No bells rang the hours. There were no animals—no horses, no pigs, no ducks escaped from their pen. He had only seen a few birds. And although he did not miss walking through mud and past garbage heaps, he could not say that he liked the new smells any better. 

Things improved as they drew away from the town and walked out into the countryside. Here he could smell grass, and the land looked more familiar. Although there were so many trees and bushes—he wondered what people in this time did for firewood, to be able to let the vegetation flourish so abundantly. 

“It’s not too much farther,” Merlin said, breaking the silence. He gestured towards the left. “Your lake is over there. Well—I always call it your lake, even though…” he trailed off, and his head bowed, a tremor of sorrow passing over his face.

Arthur had so many questions, but one rose to the fore. “Merlin,” he asked slowly, “how are _you_ here? Did you wake up in the lake, too?”

Merlin didn’t reply at first. When he did, his voice was tight, covering up some emotion that Arthur could not guess at. “I never left. I’ve been here…waiting, ever since you died.”

Arthur stopped, appalled. “How long has it been?”

Merlin shrugged. “I stopped counting after about seven centuries or so.” He smiled, but it was a smile Arthur had never seen on Merlin’s face before—bitter, weary, resigned. “You missed a lot.”

“But—but how did you stay alive?” 

The awful smile faded, replaced by a grim, hard stare. “I’m magic. And immortal. I can’t die.” Then Merlin’s face softened, and he reached out to touch Arthur’s shoulder. “Besides, I was waiting for _you_. It was foretold that you would return when Camelot needed you. I would have waited forever for this day,” he added quietly.

Arthur gripped Merlin’s hand, keeping it pressed to his shoulder while he tried to fathom what he had been told. 

“Camelot needs me?” he asked at last, latching onto the most comprehensible thought. 

“Apparently.” Merlin sighed. “Although in truth I cannot guess why—the world has problems enough right now, but things have been equally dire in the past, and you did not return.” He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and then let go and began walking again. “We’ll figure it out, though, don’t worry.”

Arthur caught up to him and after a moment, took his hand again. “Merlin—I’m glad you were waiting for me.” It seemed like such a paltry thing to say compared to the sacrifice Merlin had made to toil on the earth for so long, alone, with this burden. 

But Merlin gave him such a smile. A smile that Arthur _did_ remember. “It’s a good thing I was or you’d still be locked in that prison cell,” he teased. “You always were hopeless without me.”

“I was not,” Arthur retorted. “I wasn’t the one always falling into streams or off cliffs.” 

Merlin laughed, although it caught on a sob half-way through. “I can’t believe I’m talking with you again,” he whispered. “That you’re here and—and still a complete prat.”

“Watch your tongue,” Arthur admonished without heat. “I’m still your king, you know. You should treat me more respectfully.”

“I specifically remember you telling me not to change,” Merlin replied, giving him a sly look. “So I am only following your orders, sire.”

Arthur huffed but wasn’t entirely successful in keeping the smile from his face. 

After walking a little further, though, he could not help asking, “Do you remember everything so well? From our time, I mean. It seems so long to have remembered a few words of mine, when you must have seen and heard so much.”

“Some of it has faded. But not you. You have always been clear to me. It has been both a blessing and—” Merlin fell silent, but Arthur could guess well enough what he had been going to say. And how could he fault him for it? To be left with a grief that would never ease as time passed? That was never softened by forgetfulness? 

He, too, remembered. He remembered Merlin's last words to him. _Stay with me._

But he had not, and Merlin had been left alone. 

He could not find the words to express his regret, but he drew nearer and bumped his shoulder with Merlin's, silently communicating that he was here now and would not leave Merlin’s side.  
*

Merlin lived in a small stone house, surrounded by an overgrown herb garden. Arthur was glad to see that there was no car.

“I’ve never quite adapted to the modern world,” Merlin admitted, “although indoor plumbing is fantastic. No more hauling buckets up and down stairs to fetch water or sitting in a freezing garderobe.” 

The interior of the house was cluttered with books and pinecones and bottled potions and candles and various other objects Arthur could not identify. Merlin showed him the “toilet” and sink and demonstrated turning the little handles so water came out. Fascinated, Arthur tried it himself, sticking his fingers under the water and marveling as it turned hot. 

“Is it magic?” he asked. “Surely magic must be common now, to create all these wondrous things.”

But Merlin’s face clouded over. “No, it’s not magic,” he said shortly and took Arthur into the kitchen. 

“This is a stove,” Merlin said, pointing to a rectangular white box with black circles on the top and little knobs in front. “I think you’d better not try it—not at first anyway. Just leave the cooking to me.”

Arthur was about to say that of course it would be Merlin’s job to do the cooking, he was a servant, after all, when he realized that Merlin was _not_ a servant anymore. And despite his earlier words, he was hardly a king, with nothing more than these stolen clothes to his name. He did not know what they were now, and, feeling more confused than ever, he stayed silent while Merlin showed him a pen that stored its ink inside itself, soft little pieces of paper called “tissues” that had replaced kerchiefs, and a “telephone” which Arthur could not make heads or tails of. 

“And now,” Merlin said, “let’s get you into some different clothes. You can’t go wandering around looking like an escaped convict.”

Merlin’s bed chamber was tucked into an odd corner past the kitchen. It was small but cozy, and Arthur looked longingly at the bed. He was exhausted from the day—ironic given that he had just been resting for hundreds of years—and wanted to sink down under the blankets and pretend that he had never died and that all was as it had been, so long ago. 

“I’ve been keeping some things for you,” Merlin said as he rummaged in a chest of drawers, “just in case. I get new ones every so often so that you won’t look like you stepped out of a rummage sale.” 

Arthur pulled the shirt off and took the one Merlin handed him. He was immediately puzzled. He could see where his arms went, well enough, but then what—

“They’re called buttons.” Merlin smiled and came over. Arthur let his hands drop to his sides, allowing Merlin to dress him. “They go in these little holes and keep the shirt closed. See?”

He nodded, feeling easier with Merlin tending to him. Merlin was still smiling and when all the buttons were closed, he smoothed his hands down the shirt and adjusted the collar. “There,” he said softly and turned back to the pile of clothes. 

“Now, take off those sweatpants and then put on these boxers—I thought you’d prefer them to y-fronts, more like our old braies—and then try these jeans.”

The jeans had a button and then an odd piece of jagged metal.

“A zipper.” Merlin showed him how it worked and then stepped back, looking a little flushed. “You might as well keep wearing the trainers from the police station—those are your shoes, Arthur,” he added, when Arthur gave him a blank look, “but put these socks on first.” 

The clothing all felt quite tight to Arthur, his old tunics had been much looser and although hosen clung to one’s legs it was nothing like these jeans that went all the way up to his waist and pulled a bit snugly against his arse when he bent over. 

“Very handsome, sire,” Merlin said, grinning. “Now just put on this jumper; it’s chilly.”

The “jumper” did not leap about but was soft and warm. Arthur quite liked it and its soft blue color. 

“And now I think a bit of supper is in order,” Merlin continued, and Arthur trailed after him into the kitchen again. “I’ve a stew from the other day that just needs reheating. A few new items for you—potatoes and tomatoes—but also familiar lamb and carrots. And I’ve some bread from the store—it’s on that shelf there—just open the plastic—that little tie on top—”

Arthur tried to follow his instructions, finally emerging triumphantly with some slices of bread—all cut so evenly and regularly.

“Butter’s in the fridge. No—the fridge is that one, right there.”

It was cold inside the “fridge” but there was no ice to be seen and Arthur stood staring until Merlin admonished him to find the butter and shut the door again. Arthur looked, but he couldn’t find it and finally had to ask. Merlin pointed it out, all wrapped up in paper and in a neat, straight stick, nothing like the round pats of butter he was used to.

Feeling useless and exhausted, Arthur sat at the table and watched Merlin. 

Merlin put the pot of stew on the “stove” and did something with a knob, making a flame shoot up under the pot. Arthur startled and glanced quickly at Merlin’s eyes, but he did not seem to have done magic. When the stew was heated, Merlin ladled out two bowls and then sat down across from Arthur. He buttered his bread while Arthur took a bite of a “potato.” It was good, he decided, although somewhat bland. He wanted to add some more spices—some cinnamon and ginger. Plus, this thin slice of bread was no good for eating off of—did no one use trenchers anymore? 

Arthur wanted to speak, but all he could think of to ask were questions, and all of them seemed like they might be painful for Merlin. Asking about dead friends, about what had happened to Camelot after he died, about what had happened to the world to make it such a different place—how could he ask Merlin to discuss things that must have been difficult enough to live through once? 

But it was Merlin who asked a question first.

“Do you…remember anything? About being dead?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “No. I remember you, holding me, just before I…just before. And then I woke up in the lake.” He gathered his courage. “What have you done all these years, Merlin? Were you ever able to—to rest?”

“Sometimes. I would go to the Crystal Cave and try to sleep. But there was never any real rest. The cave inspires visions and dreams and I was always worried that you would awake and I would not be here. A few decades I could manage, nothing more.”

“And what happened to Guinevere? And Leon and Gaius? And—and everyone?” 

“I stayed with Gaius until he died, a few years after you. Gwen made a good queen. You would have been proud of her.” Merlin smiled, remembering. “She wed Leon, and their daughter took the throne. But after Gwen was gone, I—I couldn’t stay. It had been hard enough already and then, when there was no one left who had known you, who I could talk to about you, I had to leave.” He poked at his stew with his spoon, not looking at Arthur. “I wandered for many, many years. And by the time I came back, there was no Camelot any more. There was only one kingdom left—Albion.”

“We had dreamed of that day.”

“Yes, but it was different. They did not respect our—your—ideals about justice and equality.” Merlin’s breathing had grown faster and now he laid down his spoon, hand trembling. “I knew that you would want me to look after your people. And I tried—I healed and helped where I could, but my magic—my magic is for _you_ , Arthur. I used it to protect you, to achieve what I knew you wanted to achieve, and when you were gone, I—I could not trust myself. I was afraid that I would use it for the wrong ends or lose all humility and try to bring you back.”

Merlin’s voice had grown more agitated, and he dashed tears from his eyes. To Arthur’s alarm, he suddenly flung himself from his chair and knelt at Arthur’s feet, bowing his head. “Please. Please forgive me. I could not save what you would have wanted saved.” 

“Merlin, don’t. Don’t.” Arthur took his arms, pulling him up, letting Merlin rest his head against his chest. “You do not need my forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. No blame could fall on you.”

He held Merlin while he cried. His own tears would not come, even though his heart grieved for Guinevere and his knights and a home and kingdom that had faded away. He felt numb and tired.

At last, Merlin’s sobs eased. 

“Let us speak no more on this tonight,” Arthur said. “We will finish our dinner and then find sleep.”

Merlin nodded, standing up and wiping his eyes.

Arthur took a breath. “I should not object were you to warm my supper with some magic.”

Merlin gave him such a grateful, relieved look that it made it all worth it, all that he had been through on this strange, terrifying day and for the first time, he was glad that he had come back. 

*

Merlin’s bed was not quite big enough for two to share, but they managed to squeeze into it, Arthur pressed up against the wall. He had been startled by the firmness of the mattress and had bounced on the edge a few times while Merlin was in the bathroom. 

Despite being exhausted, he was not sure that he would be able to fall asleep. Part of him was afraid that sleep would become death once again. Although he had been assaulted with confusing, frightening things all day, he was also beginning to remember the joys of life. The feeling of the sun warm on his face, a savory meal, a smile and voice he had never thought to see again—all these brought him comfort. He did not want to lose them so quickly.

Merlin had a few—Arthur searched for the word—“electric” lights in his home, but he preferred candles. One burned next to the bed, and Merlin blew it out when he climbed under the blankets, plunging them into darkness. Arthur could not help reaching for Merlin and a reassurance that he was still here, that his heart still beat and warmed his blood, that he was not adrift once more.

Merlin patted his arm. “Goodnight, Arthur,” he said, sighing and resting his head on the pillow.

Arthur drew closer and listened to Merlin’s breathing. He could just make out the pale blur of Merlin’s face. He watched until sleep became irresistible, and he sank into dreams that blended past with present—the lake where he had been reborn, his sword lying in the shallows, the voice of a woman, Merlin’s bent form crouched on the shore…

*  
He woke before the dawn, his face plastered against Merlin’s shoulder, their legs entangled. The dream lingered uneasily, but he pushed it away, studying Merlin’s jaw, covered with stubble, and his mouth, half-open in a little snore. 

All he wanted was to curl against Merlin and hide. He wanted Merlin to wrap him in a blanket of memories. But that could not be. He had been reborn for a purpose, or so Merlin had said. He could not carry out that purpose hiding in a bed. He had been a king—he must become one again.

“Merlin,” he said and gave his shoulder a little shake.

Merlin startled awake, sitting up quickly and staring at Arthur, eyes wide. 

“Yes, I’m really here. Yes, everything that you remember from yesterday really did happen,” Arthur told him, averting the inevitable question. 

Merlin shuddered and shut his eyes. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said again. “Get up and get me breakfast.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped open. “You know,” he said slowly, “that I haven’t been anyone’s servant in hundreds of years.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Merlin’s jaw worked silently for a moment and then he threw back the covers and got out. He put on a plaid robe in loud reds and yellows and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. 

Arthur got up, too. He went into the bathroom and ran the water until it turned hot before washing his face. And then—then he had nothing to do. 

Somewhat sheepishly, he went into the kitchen. Merlin was cooking eggs on the stove, scowling. Pieces of bread sat next to a metal box. 

“Show me what this does,” Arthur ordered, pointing to it. 

Merlin glared. “We tossed out the whole ‘master and servant’ system a while ago, you know.”

“No, I don’t.”

Merlin’s glare wavered, and he stared down at the eggs. “Perhaps I just forgot exactly how much of a prat you could be,” he muttered. 

“Kings don’t make their own breakfasts,” Arthur pointed out. 

“But you’re not—” Merlin stopped, snapping his mouth shut.

“Not a king?” Arthur tried pushing a button on the metal box. Nothing happened. “Yes, I had figured that out, thank you. But—but it’s all that I know _how_ to be. What else can I do? Something tells me people no longer fight with swords in this world.”

Merlin took a deep breath and guided Arthur’s hand to a different button. A little red light came on. “Perhaps you should learn how to be something else, then,” he said quietly. “Maybe the world doesn’t need a king. Maybe it needs _you_.”

The thought struck Arthur into silence. To be himself absent the title of prince or king. To just be…Arthur. 

“Take the slices of bread,” Merlin continued, still in a quiet tone, “and put them in these slots, then press down this lever. It’s called a toaster.” 

Arthur did as instructed. 

Merlin took the eggs off the stove and put them on two plates. He ran some water into the pan. Then he paused, leaning his hands on the counter, his back to Arthur. “I told you once that I was happy to be your servant. That it was my destiny and that I would be your servant until the day I died.” His voice shook a little, and he had to wait a moment until it steadied. “That hasn’t changed. I’m still your servant. But I am no longer _a_ servant. The world is no longer the one we knew, Arthur. And I—I am no longer the same man I once was.”

Merlin did not move after speaking, keeping his head bowed, as though waiting for Arthur to strike him or reject him. 

Arthur laid a hand on his shoulder. “You do not seem so different to me,” he said.

Merlin’s shoulders shook. He was crying again, Arthur realized, and guilt made his heart twist in his chest.

“I am sorry for being…arrogant and—and stupid,” he said. “I—of course you do not want to be a servant anymore. You should not have to be, after all you have done. I only…wanted things to be as they had been. I did not know what else to do,” he admitted.

Merlin gave a watery laugh and turned around, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. “I’m beginning to think you are an impostor, sire—apologizing like that.”

Arthur blushed. “I meant it. I should never—”

Merlin hushed him and pulled him into a hug. 

“You never wanted me to do this before,” Merlin whispered against his hair.

“Things are different now,” Arthur replied, Merlin’s robe soft under his cheek.

“Yes.” Merlin sighed and drew back. “They are different. And it’s going to be difficult. But I’ll help you, Arthur. I’ll always be at your side. You know that.”

“That I never doubted.” Arthur reached out and ruffled Merlin’s hair. “You were like a limpet.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and then discovered that the toast had begun to burn. Their breakfast ended up being cold eggs and burned toast and a drink called “tea” that Arthur found very bitter until Merlin gave him some sugar to put in it. 

“I’ll give you some chocolate later,” Merlin promised. “You’ll love it.” 

After breakfast, Arthur managed to dress himself, despite a few awkward moments with the buttons. When he was done, Merlin came over to straighten his shirt again and smooth out the wrinkles. 

“You don’t have to,” Arthur began, but Merlin shook his head.

“I have missed some parts of tending to you,” he confessed, the tips of his ears turning red. 

Arthur did not understand quite what he meant, but stayed quiet, not sorry to have Merlin’s attention and care directed towards him. 

While Merlin shaved and dressed, Arthur went into the other room and picked up one of the books. The words were not handwritten—no human had writing so neat and exact—but he could not make out how they had gotten onto the page. He puzzled through the strange spellings for a few lines but then gave up and walked out into the garden. 

Merlin found him there and showed him about, pointing to the various herbs and flowers. 

“I’ve never forgotten what Gaius taught me,” Merlin said. 

“Do you remember the time with the goblin?” Arthur asked. “My father—the look on his face when he lost his hair—” He laughed, thinking on it.

Merlin laughed, too. “Or the troll. When I hid under your bed—”

“And the unicorn. Do you remember that? And running through the maze.”

They ended up sitting in a patch of sunlight against the side of the house, talking about all that they had seen and done together until clouds rolled over the sky and raindrops chased them back inside. 

*

Arthur woke before Merlin the next morning. He managed to slip out of the bed without waking him, determined to try the shower. Merlin had shown him how it worked, and Arthur studied the various knobs again before turning one. A jet of cold water hit him in the face, and he yelped, starting backwards. Dashing water from his face, he tried another knob and the water grew warmer. 

Standing under the hot spray, he found himself agreeing with Merlin—modern plumbing was excellent. 

He managed to turn the shower off again without incident and then availed himself of Merlin’s razor to shave. Dressing went swiftly, and he rubbed a towel over his hair a few times before stepping back into the bedroom. He felt inordinately pleased with having accomplished all this by himself without having to ask Merlin for help.

Merlin was still curled under the blankets. Arthur plopped down next to him, bouncing a little on the mattress. 

“Merlin.” He gave his shoulder a shake. “Wake up.”

A deep sigh, and then Merlin rolled over onto his back. “I’ve been awake. You’ve been banging around in there like a bear,” he added, but it was a half-hearted jest at best, and he didn’t smile.

“Well, get up, then,” Arthur said, unsure what to make of Merlin’s mood.

Merlin’s eyes drifted away, and he stared up at the ceiling. “It gets very dull, you know. Sleeping. Getting up. Eating. Washing dishes. The same things over and over and over again. Knowing that you’ll have to keep doing it forever.” 

The despair that lay under these words made Arthur feel cold. Merlin had never despaired. Even when Arthur had been dying in his arms, he hadn’t given up, still so determined.

“I get so weary,” Merlin said. He blinked and focused on Arthur. “But now you’re here,” he murmured. He reached up and touched Arthur’s cheek. “For how long, I wonder?”

Arthur caught Merlin’s fingers in his own. He did not know what to say, only wished that he could lighten Merlin’s heart and take away the weight of countless years. 

“I know you’re old, Merlin,” he said at last. “Ancient, really. But I’m not going to let you laze about in bed all day.”

It made Merlin laugh, at least. “All right. I’m getting up.”

Arthur stayed on the bed while Merlin got dressed. “I thought perhaps we might go back to the town today,” he ventured. “Perhaps we could find me some more clothes to wear.”

Merlin stilled, a sock dangling from his fingers. “If you want,” he said at last, jerking back into motion. 

Arthur was not sure that he did, really. There would be cars again and who knew what else. But he was also curious. “Why—do you not want to?”

Merlin laughed again, but this laugh had a hysterical edge to it. “I want to keep you here where nothing can touch you or harm you. I want you safe.”

His expression was frightening in its intensity, and his eyes suddenly blazed golden. 

Arthur put out a steadying hand. “Merlin, I’ll be fine. You’ll be with me.”

“Much good that did you the last time!”

“You saved my life countless times, Merlin. You have my absolute trust.”

The gold faded, and Merlin’s shoulders slumped. He nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course you’re right. We can’t hide away here forever. The world needs you after all.”

Arthur did not like the bitter tone in his voice, but he could not think of any way to make it better. So he only stood up and took hold of Merlin’s shoulders, steering him in the direction of the kitchen. “Good. Now show me how that toaster works again. And try not to burn the bread this time.”

*

They were walking back along the road into the town when a sudden rumbling thunder filled the air. Arthur ducked, and his hand went automatically for the sword that should have been at his side. 

Merlin steadied him as he stumbled backwards, looking wildly at the sky. There was a dark shape there, flying at them—“Merlin!”

“It’s all right. It’s an airplane. Like a—like a carriage in the air. It carries people over long distances.”

Arthur stared up at it, mouth open, watching as it sped over their heads and dwindled into the distance. “I thought it was a dragon.”

Merlin’s face twitched, and he said harshly, “There are no more dragons.” 

“I remember Morgana had one—”

“Do not speak about that!”

Merlin’s furious, pained shout echoed around them. Arthur tried to reach for him, but Merlin pushed his hand away. “Aithusa—she created the weapon that killed you. And I—” Merlin stopped and stood rigidly, jaw locked. “We will not talk about it,” he whispered at last and began walking again, not looking at Arthur.

Arthur followed, worried. He had never known Merlin to be so angry. But by the time they reached the town, Merlin was smiling and chattering as usual, pointing out things and chuckling at Arthur’s reactions. 

“And they’re really listening to music?” Arthur asked, watching yet another person wander by with white strings coming out of their ears. 

“Yes, although I’m not sure it would be to your taste. But here’s something I think you _will_ like.” Merlin tugged him into a shop and a short while later, Arthur was presented with a “hot fudge sundae” and a spoon.

“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully, but Merlin encouraged him to take a bite, so he did. 

“Oh. Oh that is—” He stopped speaking in favor of eating more.

Merlin laughed. “I knew you would like it. You always had such a sweet tooth.” He leaned his cheek on his hand, resting his elbow on the table and watching Arthur. “There are chocolate bars and candies and cakes, too.”

“Can I try them?”

“Yes, but not all at once. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Arthur admitted the wisdom of this, regretfully licking his spoon clean.

Merlin cleared his throat and looked away. “Come on. There’s more to see. I think we’ll try some photographs next.”

Curious, Arthur followed him. He was feeling more at ease now, and the cars no longer terrified him. And if photographs were anything like chocolate…

Merlin led him to a rectangular booth and they squeezed inside. “Now look this way and smile,” Merlin said. “There’ll be a bright light, but don’t mind it.”

There were several flashes, all very bright, and Arthur couldn’t help blinking. When they emerged from the booth, Merlin took a strip of paper from a slot and showed it to Arthur.

It was _him_ there on the paper. He touched it, wondering. It wasn’t at all the same as a painting. 

“I look silly,” he protested, for in one he was gaping like a startled deer, in another his eyes were shut, in another his nose all scrunched up. 

“You are a bit silly,” Merlin said, fond, and he tucked the photographs into his jacket. 

“Of the two of us, you are definitely the sillier.”

“I haven’t been—not for a long time,” Merlin replied, suddenly grave. “But maybe I can be again, with you here.”

Next, Merlin took him to buy more clothes. Arthur picked out more of the soft, warm jumpers and thick, red socks. 

“No, that’s not a belt, Arthur,” Merlin said, taking the silky piece of material from him. “It’s a tie. It goes around your neck like this.”

“Why?” Arthur pawed at it. “I don’t like it.”

“Mmm, I don’t blame you. Here, try these t-shirts on.”

“Do you wear them to drink tea?”

Merlin’s mouth quirked into a grin. “Well, you can, but that’s not why they’re called that.”

Their last stop of the day was the market, and Merlin left him among the fruits and vegetables while he picked up more eggs and bread. Arthur had a whole armful of things that he wanted to try by the time Merlin returned. 

Merlin allowed him to put them all in the basket, although he protested that he didn’t know what to do with an eggplant. Arthur was enchanted with the purple skin, though, and insisted on getting it. 

And then Merlin bought them Indian take away to bring home for supper. “Because I’m too tired to cook and I don’t trust you in the kitchen. I remember that disaster with the chicken.”

Arthur did not protest. He was feeling very tired again, too, and ready to return to Merlin’s little house. He had seen so many new things today. Half of their names he couldn’t remember, and the other half he didn’t understand. He’d made a fool of himself countless times, such as when he walked right into a lamppost because he was so busy staring at a boy gliding by on a piece of wood with wheels. But he had also gotten to try chocolate, and see the many people who now called Camelot home, and best of all, Merlin had been happy.

*  
He had never used to like getting up early. Even when he was a little boy he had preferred sleeping late whenever possible. Merlin had developed an entire repertoire of coaxing words, tantalizing breakfast smells, and plain brute force to roust him out of his blankets. But now Arthur found himself once again waking before the sun had arisen, startled from the same troubling dreams of Excalibur, the woman, and the lake that he had dreamt two nights ago. 

He stared up at the ceiling and put one hand on Merlin, still curled up asleep next to him. But he felt uneasy, lying there in the dim light, so aware of the beat of his heart, the breath in his mouth, the growing insistence of his bladder, an itchy spot on the back of his knee—all the signals of life thrumming through his body. He could not help but wonder if this was still him—still the same body that he had possessed in his other life or a new one forged from some strange, weird magic that even Merlin could not explain. His scars were all gone, for one thing, and there was no sign of that last, mortal wound. 

If it was a new body, then what had happened to the old one? Had it decayed, crumbling back into the earth? Or was it lying somewhere, in a dim, timeless light just like this? 

Shivering, he clenched his hands, fear washing over him again. 

“What is it?” Merlin asked softly, and Arthur turned his head to find that Merlin was awake and watching him. Merlin took one of his rigid fists and stroked it, getting his fingers to relax.

“Do you have any scars?” Arthur reached out and touched Merlin’s chest, just above the collar of his shirt. 

“No,” Merlin said. “They always fade, over the years.”

“We have that in common then,” Arthur replied, glad, somehow, that he was not alone in this strangeness.

But Merlin looked sad. “For now,” he said quietly. “You are not immortal, Arthur. Your body will live and change and grow old.”

“Why am I here?” Arthur asked again. 

“I don’t know.” Merlin sighed and sat up, legs crossed and shoulders bowed. “I’ve thought and thought, but I’m not sure. Unless—unless something really terrible is coming.”

“But what use would I be?” Arthur voiced the worry that had been plaguing him. “I don’t know how to use a—what was the word again?”

“A gun.”

“Yes, one of those. Or fly a—an airplane. Or a car. I can’t _fight_ in this world, not like I used to.” 

“You were more than a warrior, Arthur.”

“Maybe, but still…” Arthur trailed off, and they laid in silence for a while until Merlin at last rose and went to start breakfast. 

Later, Arthur was sitting in the garden, a book lying neglected in his lap. Merlin insisted that he try to learn the modern English, and would pepper new words in their conversation and kept handing books—all of which seemed to concern either medicine or cooking—to him. 

“It will keep you busy and out of trouble,” Merlin said. “I have some medicines to make—it’s how I have a bit of spare money at hand, you see. There’s a shop in the village that sells them.”

So he shooed Arthur out of doors while he began chopping and grinding various herbs. Arthur was not loath to go—he liked being close to the wind and air and earth that he had protected so long as prince and then king of this land—but he was not as eager about his task. Books and studying had never been a strength of his, and he had driven his old tutor to distraction. 

After a few pages, his attention wandered, and he looked out into the forest. He still could not quite grasp the amount of time that had passed. All his memories of Camelot seemed so fresh and green. He thought of Guinevere often, and her beautiful smile. Guinevere, who had married Leon. He’d felt a twinge of jealousy when Merlin had first told him that, but now it had passed, and he was only glad that two of the people who had meant the most to him had found comfort in each other. They’d had a daughter, Merlin said. Here, the envy was stronger, for he had always wanted children. 

Suddenly restless, he stood and walked to the edge of the garden, halted by the wooden fence that encircled it. He stared past the fence, to the road and the forest beyond. What would he do, out in that world? What would happen if he left the little bubble of Merlin’s house and ventured forth? He knew the village lay there, but beyond it…How would he make his way? 

“I can’t be a knight or a king,” he said quietly, “but that is all I know how to be.” 

“I learned how to be a teacher, once,” Merlin said behind him, and Arthur jumped, startled, not realizing that Merlin was there. 

“A teacher?”

“Yes. Back in the—oh, the 1920s, I think it was. I went to school and took all the exams. I thought that if I surrounded myself with youth perhaps I myself might feel young again.”  
That bitter smile that was so wrong on Merlin’s face appeared again. “It didn’t work. And then they all grew up and got old and died.” He shrugged. “Besides, I didn’t like being away from here…from you.”

“You shouldn’t have worried about that, Merlin. I never would have wanted you to live shut away like this—”

“What choice did I have?!” Merlin demanded, and his eyes overflowed with gold once more before leeching back into blue. “It was my _destiny_ after all. To serve you. Always.”

Shame and guilt choked Arthur’s throat. “I am sorry,” he managed. “I would not have wished it for you, Merlin. I would never have.” 

“Yes. Well.” Merlin turned away and stared down the road. “We can’t escape our destinies. That’s what I was told.”

Arthur looked down at his old/new/strange body. “No. I suppose we cannot.”

That evening, Merlin was contrite about his outburst. “I’m not angry,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean it. I said to you once that I was happy to serve you until the day I die, and that is still true.” His eyes begged Arthur for reassurance, for forgiveness, for other things that Arthur thought he saw but could not put a name to. 

“I know.” He put his hand on Merlin’s knee as they sat next to each other on a soft piece of furniture, covered with cloth. He couldn’t remember what it was called. “I know you didn’t mean it.” 

But he knew that Merlin had meant it. He knew that Merlin meant both things. Merlin was as devoted to him as he had ever been and that devotion had put Merlin through something no human should ever have experienced. Pain and weariness had turned to bitterness, lying like a scum of oil on a bowl of water that had once been sweet and clear. 

“Merlin,” he continued, for he must know this. “Why does no one but you use magic here? Is it still forbidden?”

Merlin hunched his shoulders. “There is no need to forbid it. It is gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was never…accepted, as I had hoped. And gradually, people stopped using it. They stopped believing in it, for good or ill. And then it started leaving the earth, and the air, and the water. I don’t know why. Maybe because rationality and efficiency and machinery became the new creed.” Merlin sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I think people _want_ to believe now. Many of them do. But the unicorns are all gone, and the fairies, too. No one can learn to use and love magic because it’s gone. I no longer feel it anywhere except here.” He touched his chest.

“I’m sorry. I know it was what you wanted, to be able to live freely.” He put his arm around Merlin. “I know you wanted that above everything.”

Merlin leaned against him. “Not everything,” he said softly.

*

Arthur stood near the shore of the lake, his bare feet cold in the shallows. The water lapped around his ankles, rippling, like something was coming towards him out of the fog that shrouded the rest of the lake from his sight. A boat appeared. A woman sat in it, her dark hair falling about her shoulders. She held Excalibur in her lap. 

“Arthur,” she said. “You must come. You must come to me.”

“Why?” he asked.

She did not reply but held Excalibur out to him. He reached for it—

—and woke up, heart pounding, curled up against the wall by Merlin’s bed. He straightened his legs, shifting so that he was on his back. He could still feel the summons from the woman, like an urgent drum beating in his breast. He wanted to rush out into the darkness and go back to the lake. 

Merlin was snoring beside him. He reached out and shook his shoulder. “Merlin,” he hissed. “Merlin, wake up.”

Merlin came awake slowly. “What is it?” he mumbled. 

“We need to go back to the lake.”

“Why?” Merlin demanded, all traces of sleep vanishing from his voice.

“I had a dream,” Arthur began, beginning to feel foolish, his earlier certainty fading. “There was a woman in a boat, and she told me I must come to her.”

Merlin’s fingers suddenly wrapped around his arm, painfully tight. “She would not. She would not take you from me.”

“Ow,” Arthur grumbled, trying to loosen his grip. “It wasn’t like that. She wanted to give me Excalibur back.”

Merlin was silent for a few moments. “I do not think we should return to the lake,” he said at last. “I don’t want to go back there. It was only a dream.”

“But I’ve had similar dreams, ever since I’ve been here. And it felt so _real_.”

Merlin’s grip finally eased, and he began stroking the short sleeve of Arthur’s shirt. “No,” he said, and Arthur could hear how his voice trembled. “It is only natural you should dream of that place. But that doesn’t mean we should go back there.”

“But perhaps I need Excalibur. Perhaps—”

“But people don’t use swords anymore. You said it yourself—what use could it be?” Arthur could hear the tears in Merlin’s voice now. “No. No, don’t go back.”

Merlin had never pleaded so piteously—had never been so afraid. Arthur swallowed and patted his hand. “All right. I won’t, don’t worry. You’re right; it was just a dream.”

*

By the end of two weeks in the modern world, Arthur could use the shower, make toast without burning it, manage buttons, and had ceased marveling at hot water coming from a faucet. In fact, when hot water _stopped_ coming from the faucet, he immediately complained to Merlin about it. 

“It’s probably a fuse,” Merlin said and proceeded to gather a selection of odd tools and open a narrow door that hid the “water heater.” Arthur stood by, fascinated, hair still wet, and watched as Merlin began banging things.

“What is a fuse?” he asked.

“I’ve already told you I can’t explain electricity,” Merlin grumbled. “I didn’t understand it when they invented it, and I still don’t.” 

“Well _I_ want to understand it. Find me a book or something that explains it,” Arthur ordered, prodding Merlin’s leg with his toe.

“A book that you can’t read?” Merlin said, a bit snidely, and banged a few more metal protrusions.

“Why don’t you use magic?” Arthur asked.

“I can’t just magically fix things with a wave of my hand.”

“Why?”

“Because I _don’t understand electricity._ ” Merlin glared at him. “Now go dry your hair and stop dripping on the carpet.”

Chastised, Arthur went, but later that day, he picked up the “phone” and demanded Merlin show him how to use it. “If you understand it, that is,” he added.

Another exasperated glare from Merlin. “Yes, I understand it. But what’s the point? Who are you going to call?”

“No one at the moment. But I might need to.” Arthur waved the phone in Merlin’s direction. “We don’t know what’s coming or why I was brought back. I need to be ready.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Most people don’t even use landlines anymore. It’s all mobile phones.”

Arthur did not know what any of this meant, except that Merlin seemed not to have the latest inventions. “Why don’t you have one of these phones?”

Merlin shrugged and didn’t answer.

“Well you’re going to get one,” Arthur told him. “ _We’re_ going to get one and learn how to use it.”

And he kept pestering Merlin for the next three days until Merlin finally threw his hands up and agreed to take Arthur to buy a new phone. 

“You can’t even speak modern English yet,” he muttered as they walked down the road towards the village, but Arthur ignored him. He was excited to be going out again and had privately decided to try speaking to someone in the village. Despite what Merlin said, he could say a few words without sounding too strange, and he wanted to talk to one of his people. He couldn’t help still thinking of them in that way. After all, it was for the future of this land and its inhabitants that he had fought so hard and been willing to sacrifice his life. 

He was still willing to make that sacrifice.

And so, when Merlin started talking to the girl in the shop, Arthur stepped forward and greeted her, brushing aside Merlin’s attempts to hush him. 

“Hello,” she replied, smiling. Her hair was curly and reminded him a bit of Guinevere’s. “How are you?”

Pleased that he understood, Arthur began, “Graunt mercy, hight ic,” and then stuttered, remembering. “Um, ful wel—” He took a deep breath and said clearly, “What is up?”

“I’m sorry?” The girl blinked, startled. 

Merlin said something to her, too quickly for Arthur to understand, but she nodded and gave him another smile. “Silvia,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Shake it, don’t kiss it,” Merlin hissed to him.

“Arthur,” he told her, carefully shaking her hand.

Then she and Merlin were off again, talking and gesturing as they looked at the “mobile” phones. Arthur could not make out this phrase. Did the phones move somehow? Did they come find you if someone called? 

Merlin bought a thin, black phone at last.

“Thank you,” Arthur said to Silvia as they left, and she smiled again.

“Did you hear? I said the words correctly that time!” he crowed to Merlin once they were outside. 

Merlin smiled. “I heard. Just try to avoid slang until you’ve gotten the basics down, all right?”

Arthur nodded, distracted by a woman walking by in a very short tunic that exposed her thighs. He had never seen a woman so immodestly attired. 

“Don’t stare,” Merlin said. “Fashion has changed a lot.”

“I know. I know all about buttons and zippers and jeans, remember? But her legs—”

Merlin grabbed his arm and hustled him along. 

That evening, Arthur pressed buttons on the phone until it made noises and a person’s puzzled voice spoke. Merlin snatched it away and turned it off.

“How does it do it?” Arthur asked, too curious to be annoyed. “Where is the person? How does the phone find them?”

“It’s like the phone sends an invisible pigeon to them. A pigeon who flies very, very quickly.”

“I don’t think that’s much of an explanation,” Arthur began indignantly, but then he saw that Merlin was laughing and settled for wrestling Merlin into a headlock instead. 

*

Arthur tossed the pole from one hand to the other, parrying an imaginary opponent. His feet slid into the correct positions without conscious effort. He turned, jabbing the pole into the air, imagining the sharp clack of wood connecting with wood. It wasn’t as thick or as long as a true quarterstaff, but it worked well enough. It had previously served as a bean pole in Merlin’s garden, but he’d yanked it out of the ground and enlisted it as a substitute for the weapons he no longer possessed. 

He had taken to spending a portion of each day out here behind the house, practicing his old training regimens. 

“As long as you don’t expect me to be out there with a kettle on my head, letting you bang away on me, I don’t mind,” Merlin had said, giving him a suspicious look. 

The thought had never occurred to him—he only wanted to be doing something active and physical. He had always hated being shut up in the castle, preferring hunting or fighting or riding. It was the same now. He’d go mad staying in Merlin’s little house all day. 

He finished he sequence and then slammed the pole into the ground, breathing hard. He’d gotten sweaty, even though the day was cool. He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs.

“Merlin,” he said, coming into the house. “I want to learn how to ride a car.”

Merlin looked up from where he was curled in a chair, reading a book. It was a book full of spells, Arthur knew, that Merlin thought might be useful in a battle. Just in case one was coming. “I won’t let anything happen to you this time,” Merlin had said, his eyes fierce. 

Now, though, Merlin frowned. “It’s ‘drive,’ not ‘ride.’ And I thought you didn’t like cars.”

“I don’t, but I can’t let that stop me. How will I get anywhere without a car? What if I was needed somewhere—what would I do, ride a horse to get there?” Arthur shook his head. “No, I need to learn how to drive.” 

“I don’t have a car,” Merlin pointed out.

“Well, get one, then. It can’t be that hard. They certainly seem to be everywhere.”

Merlin shut the book and rubbed his fingers over the cover. “I suppose I could,” he said, sounding reluctant

“We can’t just sit here doing nothing,” Arthur replied, his voice rising with exasperation. “Maybe that’s what you’re used to, but—”

“I was _waiting for you_. For longer than you can imagine!” Merlin shoved the book aside, standing up, arms jerking in agitated movements. “Sometimes I still think I’m waiting—that you’re a dream, and I’ll wake up, and you’ll still be gone, and—”

Arthur held his arms, stilling him. “It’s not a dream. I promise. I’m here, Merlin.”

The gold that had been edging into Merlin’s eyes faded, and he slumped. Arthur tried to ignore the thought that had been stirring in his mind over the past few weeks—if they did have to go into battle, did he dare take Merlin with him? He’d seen how Merlin reacted to even the slightest hint that he might be in danger. Was Merlin in control of his magic? What if he caused more harm than good in his zeal to keep Arthur safe? 

“You’re all sweaty,” Merlin said, shifting in Arthur’s grip.

“I was practicing. Working off all that chocolate you keep feeding me.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment and then asked, “May I draw you a bath?”

Arthur looked at him. “I thought you didn’t want to be a servant.”

“I want to serve _you_ ,” Merlin clarified. “I want to—to look after you, like I used to,” he added, flushing and staring down at his feet.

“All right.” He pushed his dark thoughts away. He had never been afraid of Merlin. He was not going to start now.

Merlin drew a bath and laid out soap and towels. Then he moved to undress Arthur. 

Arthur had grown used to tending to himself, and at first it felt strange to have Merlin’s fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt and easing off his shoes. But a warm familiarity slowly replaced the strangeness. He had so often looked down on Merlin’s dark head, bent to its tasks. He had so often felt Merlin’s fingers and hands on his body. 

When he sat down in the tub, Merlin knelt at his side. He dipped a cloth in the water and then began scrubbing Arthur’s back. There was no need to speak—he knew Merlin’s movements so intimately, the subtle cues of when to lean forward or raise his arms or bend his head so Merlin could wash his hair. The only sounds were the swish of the water and the squeak of Merlin’s shoes on the floor. 

Merlin rinsed his hair, holding a careful hand over his eyes, and then Arthur leaned back, his head resting just by Merlin’s shoulder. 

“I’m getting your shirt wet,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind.” Merlin moved the cloth over his chest in little circles, dipping down into the water to keep it warm. His voice was soft by Arthur’s ear. “I missed this.”

Arthur’s fingers had grown wrinkled by the time he heaved himself from the tub and stood swaying on the mat, sleepy and languid. Merlin dried him, wrapping him in a robe and toweling his hair. 

Arthur had shut his eyes, but he opened them when Merlin let the towel drop and began combing Arthur’s hair with his fingers. Then his hand fell down to rest on Arthur’s shoulder. His eyes were steady on Arthur’s face. 

When he leaned forward, his mouth met Arthur’s in a kiss. 

*

 

The kiss didn’t surprise Arthur—not entirely. He remembered Merlin’s words— _Because you’re my friend. And I don’t want to lose you._ He remembered his touch and his smile. They had spent much of their days together, after all. And he had— _did_ —love Merlin. But in that past life, he had never envisioned them as being intimate in a physical way. He wasn’t quite sure why. Many nobles had bedded their servants, and Sir Gareth and Sir Robert, to name but two, had been lovers. 

He had loved Guinevere, of course, and had needed to wed a woman to give the kingdom an heir, although they had never been able to conceive a child. And perhaps he had felt easier in expressing affection to her. With her he could bring flowers and kisses and draw her into an embrace. He still missed her and her steadfast support. 

With Merlin, he had never known what to do. From the first moment they had met, Merlin had puzzled him and irritated him, confounding every one of his expectations. In some ways, it would have been easier to have just bedded Merlin. That was what one did with a servant. Instead, Merlin had become his confidant and his friend. Instead of kissing and fucking, they had talked of matters both small and of great import. They had trusted and would have died for one another. 

But now—perhaps it was different now.

Merlin pulled back the slightest bit. When he spoke his lips still brushed against Arthur’s. “I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.”

“I’m not,” Arthur replied, and he put his hand on the hollow of Merlin’s back in between his narrow hips. “Just…thinking.”

“Of Gwen?”

“Yes. And of you.” The stubble on Merlin’s cheek was rough against his own.

“Of me?” Merlin hesitated and then dared another quick, gentle kiss.

“Yes. Of how I…” He paused because these things were always difficult for him to say. Easing Merlin closer so that he could nudge his nose against Merlin’s jaw and whisper it without looking at him, he managed, “Of how I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Merlin shuddered and wound his arms tightly around Arthur. “Please,” he said.

“Please what?” Arthur asked, touching Merlin’s hair with just the tips of his fingers, wary of the newness of these moments.

“Please let me have you. For always.”

He couldn’t help laughing softly, wonderingly. “Merlin,” he said, “when have I ever not been yours?”

“But—”

“We were always at each other’s sides.”

“But I couldn’t have you like _this_.”

He pulled back enough to finally meet Merlin’s eyes. “Did you want to?”

A little smile tilted Merlin’s mouth. “Sometimes.”

Arthur crowded back into Merlin’s arms again. He was suddenly very aware that he was bare underneath his robe and that a scant few minutes before, Merlin’s hands had been on his body. A flush of heat swept over him. “I, um…”

Merlin laughed, a low rumble of sound that vibrated against Arthur’s chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t drag you off to the bed and ravish you this minute. In fact we never have to do that, if you don’t want. Just this is—more than I ever hoped.”

“I…might like it.” He hid his hot face in Merlin’s shoulder. 

“We’ll take it slowly,” Merlin promised, rubbing his thumb over the short hairs at the nape of Arthur’s neck. 

*

In many ways, their relationship did not change. But a subtle, unalterable shift had occurred. Arthur did not regret it. Merlin had always represented love and acceptance to him, just as Gwen had, and in this new world, where it was just the two of them, he found it much easier to seek out that affection from Merlin. He curled into Merlin’s arms at night and came to lean against Merlin during the day, resting his chin on one of Merlin’s bony shoulders. Merlin always tilted his head so his cheek touched Arthur’s hair and smiled. 

It wasn’t long before a morning found them plastered together, all sweat and heat, Arthur’s hand squeezed around their erections, Merlin’s arm pinned across his neck, locking him against his chest. 

Arthur squirmed, trying to jerk his hips, laving Merlin’s collarbone with his tongue. 

Merlin muttered indistinctly and suddenly something crawled over Arthur’s body, hot and cold at the same time, brushing against all of his nerves and wrenching his orgasm out of him. 

He came with a whimper, helpless. 

In the next moment, he was on his back, Merlin straddling him, eyes wild with gold, fingers bruising into Arthur’s skin. He ground out his own climax, spilling between them. The gold didn’t leave his eyes. He spoke, some weird resonance in his voice that made it echo through the room, but Arthur couldn’t understand his words. 

“Merlin?” he asked, unsure.

The light went out of Merlin’s eyes. 

He didn’t say anything, only kissed Arthur and petted his arms where he had held them so tightly. 

Later, though, when they were out in the garden, Arthur stabbing about with the bean pole while Merlin dug up some herbs, he said suddenly, “I can’t hold it back sometimes—the magic.”

Arthur paused, lowering the pole. 

“It just bursts out.” Merlin stared down at his dirt-stained hands. “And then it floods back in again. Like a chain tugged it back.”

He looked up at Arthur. “I went to the Crystal Cave a few years ago—you remember, I told you about it.”

Arthur nodded. 

“It was all dark,” Merlin continued, “and the crystals showed me nothing.”

“What do you think it means?”

Merlin shrugged. “All I know is that once I could feel the magic all around me. And now it is only _within_ me, and…” he swallowed, a dry click of his throat, “sometimes I don’t know if I can control it.” 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Arthur said.

“But I could have.”

He could think of nothing to say to this, but he sat down next to Merlin and waited in silence until Merlin sighed and squeezed his hand.

*

Arthur dreamed again that night of the lake and the woman.

“Come to me,” she said. “Please. You must come soon, Arthur.”

He woke already half-way to the door, insensible to Merlin’s soft, terrified pleas. 

“I’m all right,” he managed, letting Merlin lead him back to the bed. “It was just a dream.”

But the next day, whenever he went outside, his eyes were drawn to the southeast, where the lake waited for him. 

*

The week passed slowly. One afternoon, Arthur was sitting on the floor, leaning against what he had learned to call a couch, Merlin’s bare foot dangling by his head. Merlin was reading the news and occasionally telling Arthur interesting tidbits. Arthur still couldn’t comprehend the fact that an entire _continent_ existed across the ocean and that it was possible to fly there in less than a day. 

He tilted his head and studied Merlin’s ankle. It was bony, but it appealed to him in a way similar to and yet different from his attraction to Guinevere’s soft curves. He wrapped a hand around Merlin’s ankle and tugged his foot closer. Then he traced his finger along the arch of Merlin’s foot.

Merlin flailed, laughing. “That tickles!” 

Arthur decided more of Merlin needed to be tickled, and they ended up with Merlin on the floor, pinned under Arthur’s heavier frame. 

Arthur crossed his arms on Merlin's chest and leaned his chin on them, looking down at Merlin's face. Part of him wanted to kiss Merlin and another part felt strange doing so in broad daylight instead of in the privacy of their bed. He was still getting used to kissing Merlin instead of teasing him. Not that he didn’t tease Merlin anymore, but now he could do other things, too.

“When are we going to get a car?” he asked.

Merlin didn’t try to escape but laid still, smiling up at him. “We will. But there’s no rush and besides, you’re still trying to cope with the oven.” 

It was true, but Arthur still felt frustrated. He wanted to be out there _doing_ something and not spending all his time cooped up in Merlin’s house. He couldn’t help but think that Merlin used to be much less cautious than this, always hurrying off into danger or trying various harebrained schemes. Gaius had always been the voice of reason while Merlin had been impulsive. Of course, Gaius had been old and—

Arthur paused, struck by the thought. _Merlin_ was old now, too. His body might not show signs of age, but his mind did. He had grown less reckless, less impetuous. He was reluctant to use new technologies, lived at a slow pace, and insisted that there was no hurry about anything.

“What is it?” Merlin asked, curious about his silence.

“I must seem like a child to you,” Arthur blurted, troubled by this realization. He rolled off Merlin and sat up.

“A child?”

“Yes! You’ve seen and done so much, and I’m still the same age as I was when we last…well, back then.”

“You were hardly a child.” 

"But I wasn't old, either." 

Merlin frowned and pushed himself to his knees. “But I am. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well….yes,” Arthur said slowly, aware that Merlin could take this the wrong way. “It doesn’t matter,” he added. “I don’t want you any less.” 

Merlin sat quietly for a few moments, not looking at him. “I am old,” he said at last. “ _Too_ old.”

“No—”

Merlin put his hand on Arthur’s, cutting him off. “It’s the truth.” Head bowed, he sighed and gave Arthur’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “I envied you, you know, even as I longed for you to return. You had peaceful oblivion while I had to cope with all the difficulties and heartaches that make up a life. They are always more than enough for one lifetime, let alone the countless years that I have been here.”

Arthur had no words. He could only pull Merlin into his arms and hold him. His shirt grew damp where Merlin’s cheek rested against it. 

“I love you,” he whispered at last, and Merlin sniffed and hugged Arthur tighter.

He could not help wondering, though, if love would be enough to overcome the chasm of time that had come between them. Would they fall to quarrels and resentment? Would Merlin be able to let him venture into the world? Would he grow impatient with Merlin’s hesitancy? And how could they stand it when Arthur grew old (if he were not killed in battle), but Merlin remained the same, only increasingly bitter and distraught? Arthur thought it might break his heart to have to leave Merlin alone once again, condemned to endless years of waiting. 

_Why am I here? Please, tell me why we have been brought to this time._

But no answer came. He listened to Merlin’s soft breaths and closed his eyes, pretending that when he opened them, he would be greeted with familiar castle walls and a sun that gleamed on a younger, happier world. 

*

Merlin didn’t wake up when Arthur slipped from the bed that night. He fumbled for his clothes in the dark and dressed quickly, bending down to tie the laces on his shoes. Creeping towards the door, he glanced back at the bed. Merlin remained asleep. Letting out a breath, Arthur went into the kitchen and took the note that he had written earlier that evening from his pocket. He propped it up against the counter where Merlin would see it. Then he carefully opened the front door and stepped outside. 

A full moon shone down, giving him enough light to see by. He set off down the road, heading east. Soon he would turn south. He didn’t need a map. The lake called to him, like a steady beacon in his mind. He should get there by dawn. 

Merlin would be furious, of course, and would probably try to follow him, despite Arthur’s instructions in the note to stay home and wait for him to return. Merlin had never followed his orders, and he didn’t expect him to start now. But he hadn’t been able to stand it a minute longer. He _knew_ that he needed to go back to the lake. He would get answers there—answers about why he had been brought back, about what he needed to do. 

A mile or two further on, he left the road, plunging into the fields to its side. He didn’t want to meet any cars with their bright headlights. Going cross-country slowed him down, and his shoes grew damp from the dew coating the grass. But by the time the sky was growing light in the east, he had reached the shores of the lake. 

The water was still, a haze of fog floating above it. Arthur walked to the edge of the shore and stopped, waiting. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that he must wait.

The rising sun had turned the fog into a golden shimmer when the boat appeared. It drifted towards him, empty but not directionless. Arthur climbed inside. 

He was not afraid. He felt the same detached calm that he had always felt when a battle finally started, after the tense hours of waiting and planning beforehand. 

The boat took him far out into the lake, still shrouded in fog. A small island suddenly appeared, covered in ferns and foxgloves. A woman sat there, waiting for him. 

She had dark hair and eyes. Her dress reminded him of one of the gowns Morgana used to wear. Excalibur rested across her knees. 

“Arthur,” she said and beckoned for him to approach. 

He stepped out of the boat and came nearer. He hesitated until she gestured for him to sit down on the grass. 

“Who are you?” he asked. 

“You may call me the Lady of the Lake,” she replied. 

“Why have you brought me here?”

“To tell you what you must do to save Camelot.”

He nodded, for he had expected no less. “Tell me, then. I am ready, whatever it may be.”

Her smile turned sad, and she sighed. “Not for this, I think.”

The first pang of doubt trembled in his heart. “What do you mean?”

“First tell me how Merlin fares,” she commanded. “I can only catch glimpses of him, now and then.”

“He is…alive,” Arthur said at last. “And he has borne too many burdens for too many years.” He tilted his head, curious. “You know him?”

“Yes.” Her expression lightened. “He is very dear to me. As I know he is to you, as well.” She sighed again. “And that is why I know you will do what must be done.”

Arthur shifted, frowning. “Speak plainly.”

“Has Merlin told you about the disappearance of magic from the land?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes. He said he did not know why it was happening.”

The Lady gazed out over the lake, her fingers tightening around Excalibur’s hilt. “It was forgotten. People lost their care for the land. They stopped listening to the rhythms of the earth. Untended, the magic disappeared.” She turned her eyes back to his. “Many of them would like to believe again. But it is hard to believe when there is nothing to believe in.”

“Merlin said something like that. But,” Arthur paused, “is this really the danger to Camelot? That magic is gone?” He could not help feeling skeptical.

“When you lose the soul of something, Arthur Pendragon, it is as good as dead, even if it goes on living,” she replied.

“But things do not seem so terrible,” he protested. “My kingdom is different, yes, but it does not seem in danger to me. Merlin says there have been many dangerous moments, over the years, but it has always survived.”

“That is no guarantee. If you wish Camelot to survive and face what the future might bring, magic must flow through it once more.”

“But why?” Arthur pressed. 

“I cannot foresee all futures,” she replied. “But I can see a deep darkness down this road, if the course does not change.”

He had forgotten how much he hated prophesies. “Very well. You tell me that I must bring magic back to Camelot. How am I to do so?”

She did not answer for a long time. At last, she held Excalibur out to him, hilt first. He took it, the sword’s weight achingly familiar in his hand. 

“You must use this sword to release the magic from the vessel that holds it,” the Lady told him.

“The vessel that holds it?” he repeated, puzzled. “And what is that?”

She said nothing, waiting, watching him.

He shifted, impatient. “I don’t have time for riddles. If you won’t tell me, I will ask Merlin. I’m sure he knows. He still has magic after—”

He stopped, dread tightening his stomach. “No,” he whispered.

The Lady held his gaze and nodded.

Arthur shook his head, scrambling to his feet. “You cannot ask that of me!”

“You must do this, Arthur,” she said, her eyes full of pity but implacable. 

“I will not-- _cannot_ \--kill him!” He dropped the sword, backing away from it. “You are mad. How can you even suggest—”

The Lady rose to her feet. She hardly reached his shoulder and yet power radiated from her, quelling his protests. “And if you do not? Shall I tell you what will happen?” She took a step closer to him, and he stumbled backwards, feet touching the water. “You will grow old and die. And Merlin will not. He will live on and on. Alone. Abandoned. Bitterness and hatred consuming him.”

Arthur shook his head, not wanting to hear, but she continued. “He will go insane. He is already on the edge of it. You know this. You have seen it. And when he does, he will use all the power coursing through his blood to destroy everything that he once held dear. Camelot—Albion—all the people who you once protected together—he will bring death and destruction upon them.” 

He couldn’t hear this. Sinking to his knees, he buried his face in his hands, hiding the tears threatening to fall. “Please—I cannot. I love him.”

“And that is why you will do this.” Her voice gentled, and he felt her hands on his shoulder. “Please, Arthur. Only Excalibur can end Merlin’s life. And only you can wield it.” She took his hands in her own, kneeling with him. “Do not leave him to suffer.” Her own eyes were filled with tears, too.

“But we—” Arthur tried to speak, failed, and then managed to whisper, “We had only just found each other again.” 

She did not try to comfort him with empty words but held him as he cried and learned again what it meant to be a king.

*

The boat took him back to the shore. As he drew near, he saw Merlin standing there, waiting for him. He was still too far away to make out Merlin’s face, but he guessed by his rigid posture and the way his arms were tightly crossed over his chest that he was furious. 

Arthur bent his head, taking a deep breath and trying to get control over his expression. He scrubbed his hand over his face, hoping that Merlin wouldn’t be able to tell that he had been crying. 

“What were you thinking?” Merlin demanded as soon as he stepped out of the boat. A lingering sheen of gold hovered in his eyes, and Arthur shivered, hearing the Lady’s words again. “You could have at least told me, Arthur, instead of running off by yourself. I do happen to have magic and can protect you if—”

Arthur dragged him into his arms, stopping Merlin’s tirade. He squeezed him tightly, burying his face in Merlin’s neck.

Merlin went stiff and startled for a second and then relaxed, gathering Arthur close in his turn. “What is it?” he whispered. “What happened?”

“There was a lady on an island in the lake,” Arthur managed, voice muffled against Merlin’s skin. “She said—” But he couldn’t go on, _couldn’t_ tell him. 

“Did she have dark hair?” Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded.

Merlin breathed out a sigh. “Good. I am glad…” He trailed off and then asked, “What did she want?”

Arthur tore himself away, stumbling back a step. He forced himself to meet Merlin’s eyes. “She wanted to give me Excalibur,” he said, and his voice only shook a little. 

Merlin studied the blade. “I suppose it might come in useful.” He gave Arthur a sharp look. “But next time you have the desire to go running off to a lake in the middle of the night, _tell_ me, all right?”

Arthur nodded again, voice failing. 

“Let’s go home,” Merlin suggested, smiling and giving his head a little jerk in that direction.

Arthur fell into step beside him. He knew he should speak or Merlin would sense that something was wrong, but he kept seeing a vision of Merlin, wracked with grief and mad with power, as the Lady had prophesied. He stumbled over a branch, feet leaden. The desire seized him to run back to the lake and throw his sword into the water. But he kept moving forward, hand gripping Excalibur’s hilt, the metal biting into his palm.

Merlin kept glancing at him, but he didn’t say anything, only reached over and took Arthur’s hand.

*

When they returned to the house, Merlin began preparing a late breakfast for them. Arthur had no appetite—wasn’t sure that he could ever eat or sleep again. 

He couldn’t do this. The very thought of taking his sword and…It made his stomach roil with nausea just to think of it. 

The Lady’s words had been so vague about Camelot and magic and what would happen if it was not brought back. How could he be sure it was the truth? 

But even if that part was not true, what she had said about Merlin…

Arthur stood by the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. Perhaps if he told Merlin, and gave Merlin Excalibur, then when he had died, after they had enjoyed a life together, Merlin could—

Arthur stopped himself, appalled. That was a coward’s way out, to put the responsibility on Merlin, to make Merlin take his own life, adding another burden to those he already bore. Was he not a king? Was it not a king’s duty to do what must be done and not falter?

He loved Merlin too much to let him suffer forever. 

And if it was to be done, he must do it soon. He would never be able to live with this secret day after day. He had always been a terrible liar.

When he sat at the table, picking at his food, Merlin immediately sensed something was wrong.

“It was the lake—being back there again,” Arthur mumbled in reply to Merlin’s query. 

“I would never let anything happen to you,” Merlin said, and Arthur nodded, giving Merlin’s hand a squeeze.

_It’s my turn to look after you now,_ he thought. Aloud he said, “There is something I would like to do. I would like to return to where—well, to where the castle used to stand. To—to my old home. Just to see it. If that is all right.”

“There’s…nothing left,” Merlin said carefully.

“I understand. I just would like to be there.”

“All right. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

That night, he asked Merlin to read to him from one of the books he liked. He watched Merlin’s face intently, trying to remember every detail of expression, how his voice sounded, the little smile that curved his mouth every time he looked up to see Arthur. He wished he could ask Merlin for the photographs that they had taken but dared not lest Merlin ask too many questions.

When they went to bed, he held Merlin close, kissing him, and fighting down the clawing sorrow so that Merlin would not become worried or afraid. 

*

“This is it?” Arthur asked, looking around the meadow and surrounding forest. There was no sign of the castle, not even an errant stone. 

Merlin nodded. “The forest has grown a lot in the past hundred years. But if you come up here and look that way—”

“I see it! I remember,” Arthur said, staring at the hills that rose in the west. He had so often looked at their profile from the window of his chamber. The sight brought a wave of memories, painfully sweet, and finally he had to turn away. 

He sat down in a patch of sunshine, taking Excalibur and laying it down beside him. Merlin had teased him for bringing it along, and it had taken all his will power not to fall to his knees and tell Merlin the truth. But he had remembered how Merlin had kept his magic secret for so long in order to make things easier for Arthur, even as the secret ate away at Merlin and made his life so very difficult. If Merlin had been able to do that, then Arthur could do this. 

Merlin was standing still, face tilted into the wind. When Arthur called his name, he turned, a smile lighting his eyes. 

_What will I do without you?_ Arthur asked silently. He would have to face this world alone now. But so had Merlin. For so very, very long. Arthur would not let that happen again.

Merlin plopped down next to him, shielding his eyes from the sun. “All right?” he asked, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur managed to nod, and Merlin kissed the side of his mouth. 

“I was just remembering climbing all those stairs up to your chambers,” Merlin said, “while hauling wood, water, and armor.” He elbowed Arthur. “Can’t say I’m sorry those are gone. But I miss the great hall and how the sunlight used to filter through the panes of glass. And I miss the gargoyle right outside your window—the one who was sticking his tongue out. Do you remember?”

“Yes. Yes, I remember.” He had to do it now and quickly or he might never find the strength again. 

It was easy to tug Merlin into his arms and hold him while reaching for the sword. 

Merlin suspected nothing, not until the first inch of steel slid toward his heart. Even then he didn’t panic, only looked at Arthur, uncomprehending. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered. 

Merlin jerked and then gasped. His gaze traveled down to the sword, and then he cried out as Arthur drew it back and cast it aside. 

He caught Merlin as he crumpled, blood warm and wet against his hands. 

“I love you,” Arthur said. “I love you.”

Merlin still said nothing. He looked up again into Arthur’s face and started to reach towards him. But then he stiffened, and his hand fell. A second later, his body slumped against Arthur’s chest. Arthur bent over him, tears falling unchecked.

Through the tears, he saw the magic seep out of Merlin’s body. It glowed brighter and brighter, surrounding them until Arthur could see nothing else but its light. He shut his eyes and buried his face in Merlin’s soft hair.

*

_His arms still ached from the fight, he would have bruises all along his ribs tomorrow, and Morgana had the gall to suggest that she had saved him!_

_He stalked over to Merlin. “Can you believe Morgana?” he demanded. “She says she saved me. Like I needed any help.”_

_Merlin gave him a funny look that Arthur couldn’t decipher. Perhaps Merlin was still upset about earlier. And he had a right to be upset._

_Taking a breath, Arthur said, “I wanted to say I made a mistake. It was unfair to sack you.”_

_Merlin shrugged, looking pleased. “No, don’t worry about it. Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”_

_Arthur looked at him askance. “Uh, I can’t be seen to be buying drinks for my servant.”_

_“Your servant?” Merlin grinned. “You sacked me.”_

_Wrong footed, Arthur sought refuge in casual arrogance. “Now I’m rehiring you.” And he did seem to be doing just that. He’d sworn earlier that he would never let Merlin serve him again—he’d been resolute, even in the face of Merlin’s distress. But now…_

_He knew, in that instant, why he was doing it. Oh, he quickly covered it by giving Merlin a long list of chores, and it would be a long time before he fully admitted the truth of it. But he knew, deep down._

_It was because he wanted a friend._

*

How long he sat there, cradling Merlin’s body, he didn’t know. The glow of the magic seemed to last forever. Bathed in its light, he remembered that day, after his fight with Valiant, and many others. 

Merlin was meant to be at his side, and he at Merlin’s. 

They had been together such a short time, really, back in Camelot. And now, they had been separated again. 

He could not have done any differently, though. 

Vaguely, he wondered what would happen to him now. His purpose had been served. Merlin was…

It already seemed a colder world without him. Albion might prosper, the magic breathing new life into the land. He was glad of that. And Merlin was free now. Arthur had been able to give him that, at least. But his own life had grown dim and empty.

At last, the glow of the magic began to fade and finally disappeared, leaving only the sunlight behind. Arthur kept his eyes closed, unwilling to face the reality that awaited him.

“Mmmm, Arthur?”

He had imagined it. He had imagined hearing Merlin’s voice. But then Merlin shifted in his arms, and Arthur cried out, eyes flying open, heart pounding.

Merlin was blinking sleepily up at him, alive and whole. There was no sign of blood, and when Arthur put a trembling hand on his chest, it was firm and unmarred under his touch.

“What happened?” Merlin asked. “Where are—” 

Arthur gathered him into his arms, cutting off his words. He kissed him—on the mouth, his nose, his ears.

“Arthur,” Merlin protested, laughing. “What—?”

Arthur finally drew back, letting Merlin have some room to breathe. Merlin looked different, somehow. He looked…younger, perhaps. He looked more like the Merlin that Arthur remembered from before. “You’re here,” he breathed, a wondering smile spreading across his face. “You’re all right.” 

“Yes, I’m—” Merlin paused, frowning. “I…I know that I was alive for a very long time, waiting for you, but I don’t—I can’t really remember it all anymore.” He shook his head and then laughed suddenly, and Arthur drank in the sound. “I just know that you’re here now, and that I love you.”

Arthur hugged him again. “That is all you need to know.” He would tell Merlin what had happened, but for now he would hold him and bless the fates that had allowed them to be together.

*

Merlin still had a little magic but not much. “It’s enough,” Merlin said. 

They had come back to the lake to return Excalibur. “I don’t think I will need it anymore,” Arthur had said. 

No boat appeared this time, and finally Merlin took the sword and threw it into the water. They watched it fall in a glittering arc and then stayed until the last ripples had faded. 

“Come,” Arthur said, offering his hand. “I think it’s time to go get that car you promised me.”

Merlin laughed and took his hand. “Yes, I think perhaps it is.” 

He paused another moment, eyes lingering on the still water. He had a feeling that he and Merlin were now unmoored from the streams of time, free to drift in whatever direction they happened upon. They would grow old and die and this time, they would not return. 

He turned and sprinted towards the road and wherever it would lead them, tugging Merlin along behind him, listening to his laugh. 

A life together. Yes, it would be enough.


End file.
